


demon interlude

by phantomas (sil)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-27
Updated: 2010-08-27
Packaged: 2017-10-11 06:52:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/109649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sil/pseuds/phantomas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written in May 2006. Scene from Devil's Trap. Demons lie. This one especially.</p>
    </blockquote>





	demon interlude

**Author's Note:**

> Written in May 2006. Scene from Devil's Trap. Demons lie. This one especially.

It was a simple gesture. Orange and darkness striped eyes flickered, and Sam felt his throat constricting, little less that a thin strand of oxygen being pushed through his lungs by his own sheer will to live. Because he could not die. Not as long as he was stuck to that wall, not as long as the Colt was out of reach, not as that monster in his father's body was as close as he was to Dean.

Sam could not die, so he kept breathing, all his senses stretched, twisted, pulled, to bring in that one more minuscule molecule of oxygen…and everything else was a confused mass of colors and shapes and Dad's voice, a stranger's voice, growling in the background behind the loud buzzing in his ear. Deafening.

The Demon chuckled. Flickered his fingers, a flare of bright fire in his eyes. "So, Dean. As you see. Daddy is not dead. Not yet, anyway."

Dean didn't answer. His eyes tightened, briefly, slit with pain and worry and defiance. "He's inside you. He'll kick your ass. You'll see. My dad never gives up."

"I know," the demon's breath _dad's warm breath, coppery, tired-scented, how many times, how many days, dawns, nights, the smell of them, hunt-sweat, fear-sweat… _"He's a tough guy, John Winchester, isn't he?" and his breath, humid on Dean's cheek. The brush of lips against the side of his nose. "You like that, Dean? You think your father is some sort of hero, don't ya?"

Dean's eyes wavered to Sam's trembling body, taking in the slow lifting of his chest. "He tracked you down, didn't he?" _Make him talk, take time…look for an escape route, there's always one, and if there isn't, you're in trouble, son, you didn't plan like you should've…_

"Maybe I let him," the demon sidestepped, one thigh pressing against Dean's own. "Do you want to know something, Dean? Sam was always Daddy's favorite. But you always knew that, don't you? You always knew, and you tried to win his love by doing everything he wanted."

A deep swallow, Dean looking for something to ease the dryness in his throat. Eyes unerringly fixed in _dad, dad please_ the demon's. Trying not to look at his father's flaky dry blood on his cheek, trying to not let his senses be fooled. Trying to stare the Demon down, because _fuck you, fuck you, you damn monster, you mom-killer, life-destroyer, evil fucking sonofabitch I'll kill you kill you kill you God help me_ Dean wasn't one to give up. He was John's son.

"Oh," and it was necessary to close his eyes, now, because the Demon was pressed against him, solid as death, bulky, father-sweat smelling. "You want to kill Daddy, Dean? How banal." There was a tilt to the Demon's head, like an animal predator would, John-alien. "You know what Daddy really wants? What he always wanted?" Rough finger-tips, scars on the back of the knuckles, scars that Dean could have told you _Idaho, 1992, summer, knives-happy poltergeist…Texas, 1999, winter, the house shook and crashed upon us and Dad put his hands over me…_ where and when and how, and now they were touching him, those callused fingers, caressing and brushing his jaw, o' so tenderly.

It was too dark, in this little hole they hoped to be safe in. Dean wanted to move his feet, but his boots just scraped the dust on the wooden planks under them. There was no space left, between his heart and the wall behind him. Between his life and this monster with his father's face. "All Dad always wanted was to kill you dead, you bastard."

A curl of lips, another side-tilt, and stubble rasping and oh god dad please.. and another hand, settling on Dean's hip. Heavy. So heavy. "That too. But also…" flaring orange settling on Dean's features. Hips pressing, in all the right places, in all the wrong ways. "You always smelled like Mary, boy."

A pause. For the demon to enjoy. For Dean to give in to the invisible strength slamming him into the wall and try to disappear in it, to melt with the wood behind, make an armor of it. Father-lips curling in a smile. Demon-voice taunting him.

"You did. And John always wanted it to lick it off you," and there it was, wet and thick, father-tongue and demon-poison, licking across Dean's lips _is Sammy's breathing still, can I move my hands, don't don't don't_, down to Dean's jaw, turning into a whisper in the shell of his ear. "I know John wants you. This meat-suit of his, is full of wants and needs, but not Sammy, no, Sammy has to be protected, but you, you're his to use as he pleases, and this is just one more use, son, just one more sin in the back of John's mind…if you knew, how many times he's been lying in bed and thinking of doing this to you."

John Winchester was as tall his eldest son, same robust inches and broad shoulders. Chest to chest, hips to hips, there was an erection in John's jeans, hard and warm through the layers of fabric, Dean with no place to go, and that thing, _that thing rubbing rubbing and pressing and pushing like you would, like you've done to a hundred girls before, pushing your thigh between theirs, and rubbing and rutting on them_ on him.

"Dad, please…" was that his voice, that whimper? _Sammy Sammy help me god please Sammy help…_

"Daddy's here, my boy, Daddy's got you," and it was John's voice, and John's hands on him, sliding between the waist of Dean's jeans and skin, cold, goosebumps, sucking in air to push himself away from the touch and _nowhere nowhere nowhere no no no_ nowhere to go. "C'mon, Dean, show a little affection for your old man," there was tongue, then, thrust between Dean's lips, father-lips and father-mouth and devil-soul and Dean's blood curling, head banging against the wall behind, and John's body and hands and mouth on him, touching taking stroking lapping, each inch of skin a piece of heart tore apart, thrown away. "Daddy loves you so much, Dean…he loves you like this, always has…" spit and saliva and stickiness and sickness pouring out of him and inside of him, and Dean just _no no no, please dad, please dad no no_ closed his eyes, because he didn't want to see, not his father's face, not those eyes flaring, flames in the back of his mind, ashes on the back of his throat.

The zip on Dean's jeans undid itself, bit by bit. Dean focused on the gurgling coming from Sam's direction, eyes shut closed. "You can't make me. You're not my dad." It didn't matter that it sounded as if the words were pulled out of him, extracted slowly and painfully, it didn't matter that it barely reached his own ears, it didn't matter that the words got twisted with the wetness on his face.

Flesh on flesh, solid-bulky-turgid, father-cock, blood hot, precome slick, and _hope I'm gonna get sick on the sonofabitch hope it's gonna die slowly oh my god daddy help me daddy don't do this to me don't please daddy no no_ "I can make you do anything I want, son," was whispered on Dean's lips. Rub and stroke and slide, father-hands on Dean's cock, skin, body, soul, landscape marred, scarred, burned. Burned. "Say 'daddy' Dean. Say it. That's an order, son."

"No, no," whispering back, Dean hoped Sam wasn't seeing this, wasn't hearing this, wasn't guessing any of this, Sammy shouldn't know any of this. Sudden pain between his legs made him ram his head back against the wall, once, twice, _stop it, stop it_.

The Demon smiled, with John's teeth and lips, in the face of his son's attempt to escape the fingers that were steadily breaking his body, thrusting up his ass. "Yes, son, yes. Say 'daddy', call your Dad, and I'm gonna give you all his love, any time you want. Like this," a deeper, harsher thrust of his fingers, and Dean's scream was swallowed whole by John's mouth. "Ah, that's so good. Your dad will be so proud of you, finally." It was all about pushing, blood and sweat-soaked clothes stinging and sticking, the rapid jerking of wrist, fingers-wrapped tight, fingers pushing deep. "John wants to fuck you so badly, son, he always wanted to, fuck you over, fuck you up, fuck you against a wall, and you'd let him, wouldn't you? A little love, that's all you want, and you'd roll over and spread your legs for your dad without saying a word."

Bright flames flickering against the ceiling in the back of his mind, Dean opened his eyes, the sound of his teeth rattling as foreign as the vibrations of the glass windows. Dean opened his eyes, eyelashes sticky, heavy, and looked - looked - stared at his father's face so close to his, felt his father's hands on him, in him, ass-blood-cock-full-sick-come-drip. "Please, Dad…please daddy," he murmured with bloodied lips and broken whispers. "Please, dad, don't let him do this to me, please dad, please, please."

Dean opened his eyes and kept them open as his come spurted on John's t-shirt, army-green and days-dirt, as John's come splashed against Dean's groin, as gasps-growls-pants and fire licked his skin, and he kept his eyes open to see the orange bright of the pupils and the stripes of darkness and the dancing fire in his father's eyes - in the Demon's eyes -and he ignored the side-tilt of the head, and the curl of lips, and the sweat-scent.

Dean opened his eyes and as he came, he spat in the Demon's face, and shoved everything else deep down, deep, deep.

Sam couldn't see what was happening on the other side of the room. Too long hair was in his eyes; one side of his face was swollen and throbbing, his muscles strained and on the verge of breaking by the efforts made for movement. "Don't touch him," he said, vowels and consonants dragged along his throat, dying on his lips.

It was a simple gesture. Orange and darkness striped eyes flickered, and the back of John's hand cleaned the spit off Johns' face. The palm of his other hand smeared Dean's own come over Dean's lips, his neck. Another side-tilt, a shoulder itching, and lips curling, orange-flamed eyes mocking, all-knowing, and the Demon made John's body step back, step off Dean's body…and for a moment, a single shard of fragmented time, a slice in the darkness outside, inside, John's eyes, and Dean's eyes, and hell between them.

It was a simple gesture.

Dean's body slid up along the wall, a few inches more, and the Demon turned, indifferently and automatically adjusting himself, enjoying the feel of the body he currently owned and the stretching and howling of the soul inside.


End file.
